We cry, with the throb of deception,Because we’ve seen the tongue of deceit, without exception.We cry, and we feel guilt,Because we’ve spat the words of trickery ourselves, knowing what it would wilt.And so, we speak in feathers of white, to cover our scarring words,Even when we know white lies can so easily be tainted by the song of black birds. But why can’t we speak in different shades of light?Periwinkle lies, so soft and pure it would chirp with joy even through the darkest of nigh...
